Coffee
by diversity135
Summary: In which there is a sleep deprived, caffeine-addicted assassin, the stubborn secret service agent insistent on dogging his steps, and a cup of Starbucks coffee. And how that all comes together.


**AN: Insanity -** AU, this could not be more AU if it tried. Keep that in mind. Yuuri's an assassin, Vicktor's a segret service agent, all that stuff. Now, on with the story! *hisses softly* _one more thing,_ I don't own anything, as you can tell by the giant FANFICTION in the corner. Just saying...

...

It's madness. Pure, unadulterated madness. Liquid crazy, edible insanity, whatever you want to call it. The fact is, Yuuri did not want to do it. It had been a long two weeks, too long. And 95% of it had been spent either staring into a sniper scope, drowning in paranoia while trying to sleep (to no avail), or cleaning his weapons because _there isn't anything else to do, god dammit! And he still had to watch the fucking road because some people weren't smart enough to get something as simple as_ time _right!_ The other 5%? Screaming his lungs out of commission from nightmares. Not pleasant.

Phichit stared imploringly at him, gaze flickering from the folder in front of him to Yuuri's face, and back again. Yuuri can almost _hear_ the 'you _idiot,_ just _take the folder, kill the man, and_ then _you can have your coffee'._

Yuuri slouched down even further in his seat -normally he was much more polite but, come on, he deserved a break- and tried to look as petulant as possible. Judging by the waves of exasperation radiating from Phichit, he succeeded.

"You're acting like a child, Yuuri."

"I don't _care_. Let me sleep a few hours and i'll reevaluate that statement."

"A time line was included in the dossier, we are currently half an hour off schedule. The client is someone who doesn't like to be kept waiting. 5 million is on the line, Yuuri. _5\. Million._ Buy all the coffee you want with your share but just hurry the fuck up."

"..."

" _Yuuri._ "

"Fine! Fine, fine, fine, fine. _Fine._ "

He heaved himself out of the plastic chair -it has been getting more comfortable by the minutes, how odd was that?- and headed for the door, dragging his feet the whole way.

"Give me ten minutes, I need to *yawn*, need to get the supplies."

Yuuri forced his mind back into the razor sharp focus it needed to be in on every mission and packed what would be needed to kill one troublesome politician. It was overkill, honestly, but what the client wanted, the client got. Even if it was someone's freshly decapitated head presented on a silver platter to their sweetheart. Heh. Well, as long as they payed enough, but that was a given. Whoever had the connections to get ahold of _him_ never had any problems with money. Not unless they were suicidal.

He focused back on his work. Knives got strapped to his forearms, thighs, and shins. Guns slipped into shoulder holsters and poison vials tucked into pouches. It was relaxing, in a morbid way. It was a habit too, but if you got this far, some rules had to be sacrificed for the further preservation of sanity. What was left of it, anyway.

A discrete headset was the last thing to be put on, Yuuri hadn't had the time to get out of the sleek, black bodysuit that was a staple of whatever he was doing. A suit was thrown on top of it, pitch black hiding pitch black.

"Yuuri here," he murmured into the speaker, checking if it was working. A healthy sense of paranoia never killed anyone.

"Great!" Phichit sounded way too cheerful, "Now go and kill people!"

Yuuri sighed and walked out of their 'headquarters'. It was an overly glorified office building, so _completely average_ that he was surprised that people didn't fall asleep when they looked at it. Each to their own, he supposed.

His feet automatically headed towards the nearest Starbucks, the rest of his body wholeheartedly agreeing. Starbucks meant coffee, coffee meant deliciousness, and deliciousness meant a slightly lighter wallet, but who cared about that? Coffee. The drink of the gods.

"Yuuri," Phichit's tinny voice crackled through the speakers, "Celestino will have you scrubbing toilets and teaching little brats how to shoot until the end of time if you don't focus."

Yuuri yelped a quiet protest and changed his direction. Teaching...he shuddered, and snuck a glance over his shoulder to check for any sneaky bosses ready to reassign him to babysitting duties. His boss _was_ the kind of person to stalk an operative just to make sure they were doing their job. Celestino was scary that way.

Eventually, he reached the hotel his target was staying in, and strode past the bellboy and into the welcome hall. The client wanted it messy, they wanted it to send a message, they wanted the target's face twisted in agony with a bullet hole through their head. And to do that, Yuuri needed to get to the target's room. In a hotel as exclusive as this one, he had to look like he _belonged._ Hence the Kiton suit, slicked back hair, and dangerous smirk plastered on his face.

It was disturbing, really, the way people glanced in his direction before quickly lowering their eyes in a show of subconscious submission. His smirk morphed into a frown, and people started _consciously_ moving out of his way. The frown turned into a scowl. The path to the elevators was cleared almost immediately.

Yuuri pressed the 'up' button and the doors dinged open as soon as the finger left the glass circle. He got in, lightly selecting floor 26 on the panel, and waited. A few moments later, the doors were opening again and he was stepping out, gleaming black leather shoes sinking slightly in the plush carpet. He mentally ran over the information provided one last time, checking for errors or mistakes. There were none.

"Room 2641," He whispered, "right."

He paused again, gaze flickering up to the ceiling. "Phichit, you _did_ disable the cameras, right?"

Laughter rang out over the headset, "Of course I did! What did you take me for, an imbecile?"

" _Yes,"_ Yuuri drawled, strolling down the hallway, "hard not to."

The snickers lingered for another few moments before subsiding, though _not_ before he got completely sick of the sound. Ah well, he would get his revenge later.

2637...2639... _2641_. Finally.

Yuuri slid a duplicated version of the key card into the lock and opened the door with gloves hands, slipping soundlessly inside, shutting the door behind him. He had manners, after all.

Steps silent, he stalked towards the bedroom of the suite, slim fingers quickly readying his Glock to do its bloody business.

Yuuri's lips thinned in distaste. It was so _inelegant,_ this death. a straight shot to the head. To pain, no planning, not even any _intelligence_ was needed to carry out this assassination. Just a gun, a bullet, and something to pull the trigger. A few seconds later and he stood at the foot of the king sized bed, staring down disgustedly at the fat man snoring away in the middle.

"Oh, fuc-!" Something heavy slammed into his back and sent him toppling to the ground, the floor suddenly much closer to his face then it had been a split second before. Rolling, he sprang to his feet and pivoted on one foot, fingers tightening on the trigger of the gun. If he could get just one shot off-

He yelped as the person -he, it was a he- lashed out with a leg and swept his feet out from under him, sending him crashing back down once more. Yuuri hissed in anger as the man pinned him to the floor, knees pressing into his shoulders until he groaned in pain. Fingers wrapped around his wrists and _tightened_ till the bones grinded together and he muffled a scream. The gun clattered to the ground, spasming fingers unable to cling onto the cold metal. He looked up, and his eyes widened.

Phichit's voice crackled through the headset, "Yuuri, you there?"

A short, silky curtain of silver hair falling in front of icy blue eyes, thin lips set in a dispassionate line. Yuuri eyed the sharp features of the man leaning over him, all lean muscle and beautiful grace. One arm was stretched out to pin his wrists to the floor above him, the other had elegantly long fingers wrapped around the handle of the gun he stole from Yuuri, pressing the barrel warningly into his throat.

Yuuri licked his lips and swallowed dryly, feeling the cool metal rest against his Adam's apple. The man smirked down at him and shifted his weight again, the pressure on his shoulders built until he was choking in pain and blinking back involuntary tears. The grin widened. Ah...Yuuri was in love.

"Phichit? There's a _tiny problem_ right now."

The man shifted, _again,_ except this time the gun was also pressed down. Yuuri screamed through clenched teeth.

"What kind of problem?"

"T-the kind _a-ah_ wh-whe-ere i'm _gah_ b-b-being _t-tortured_ by a, by a _ooh god,_ by a fucking _haaa_ s-secret ser-ervice agent!"

"You _do_ realize how much you sound like you're having sex right now?"

"I'm g-going to fu-fucking _k-kill_ you, Phichit!-"

The agent gently set down the gun and reached for his ear, slim fingers closing around the headset and pulling it out, tossing it into some corner of the room. He looked down again, smirking and Yuuri forced his lips into a semblance of a shaky smile. The man reached into his coat and pulled out a knife, wickedly sharp blade gleaming dully in the low light. Yurri's mouth went dry.

"P-please d-d-don't." Fear coloured his words, the stutter not entirely from the pain anymore.

The knife descended.

"W-wait!" It was a last ditch attempt, the contractor usually had to do what the client wanted them to do, and normally civilized people weren't always that thrilled at being a witness for torture. So Yuuri pitched his voice to carry in the direction of the bed, aiming to wake the lazy person sleeping in it, snoring away through the commotion of someone being tortured.

The fat man stirred before flailing into consciousness, sitting bolt upright and being immediately confronted with the two killers' rather _strange_ position on the floor. Yuuri was writhing in pain, lying flat on his back with terrified eyes fixed on the knife hovering over his left cheek. The agent loomed in a pale arch over him, hand frozen mid-slice and head cocked in the direction of his client.

"Ah, too bad," the agent whispered, shooting a rather chilly smile at Yuuri before twisting to face his client better. Yuuri stifled a whimper of pain at the change in position.

"There seems to have been a little _intruder,_ sir. What would you like me to do?"

The client glanced down at him indifferently and Yuuri flinched as much as he was able to.

"Whatever you want, Agent Vicktor. Just keep it quiet and clean up afterward. And move it to the other room, will you? I'm trying to sleep here."

Fuck.


End file.
